


Nightmares Do Come True.

by PhantomSoldat



Category: Avengers (Comics), Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Assassination, Assassination Attempt(s), Blood and Gore, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Character Death, Gore, Heartbreak, M/M, Major Character Injury, Other, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bucky Barnes, Psychological Torture, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 17:09:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9832157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomSoldat/pseuds/PhantomSoldat
Summary: Having failed the mission once already, the Winter Soldier is once again sent on it with a rather large incentive so that he does not screw up for the second time. When it gets around to eliminating the target, it isn't quite who he originally thought... ( One Shot - Based On A Prompt ).





	

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning - Gore, violence, torture, suicidal thoughts.

The Nightmare. 

 

Screams echoed through the large, dimly lit room as the electricity ran through his body. It burned, the fire coursing through his veins from his scalp to his toes. He wasn’t certain how long he had been there, but his throat was raw and hurt from the strain of yelling- of screaming- and his body was exhausted from the pain it had been enduring for hours on end. It was as that pain subsided that he realised just how dry his throat was and that it had been over twenty four hours since he had both eaten and drank something. The last time he had, it had been at the beginning of his mission for energy, but since then, he had failed to accomplish the mission on time, and now he was receiving the consequences for his failure. 

 

A wheezed noise escaped his chapped lips as he attempted to focus on the light that hung above his head - Something that proved difficult due to the fact that his vision was fuzzy and his senses were disorientated. His movement was limited as he was strapped down to a cold, hard surface - The experiment table that he had grown all too familiar with over the years he had been serving Hydra. Taking deep, hoarse breathes, his vision focused on the silhouette of a man that came between where he was laying and the light that hung meters above him from the ceiling. 

 

“You _will_ complete your mission in the delegated time, soldier. Understood?” 

 

“It got… Interrupted-“

 

Sharp energy ran through his body, causing his muscles to seize up. The electricity was back; but this time, directly through whatever was placed on either side of his forehead, just over his temples. He grit his teeth in a vain attempt to hold back the agonised scream that barely even registered to him as his own. All he could feel was the burning, his muscles twitching, his body thriving under the sheer control that the doctor had over him through _pain_ \- Oh, God, _so much_ ** _pain._** Despite his throat being dry, saliva left his lips and ran down his jawline. His vision went black, returning moments later to that same, looming silhouette. 

 

“… _Soldier?”_

 

He could barely breathe, could barely think, but he knew he had to comply. This time, he would not fail them. This time, he would complete the mission on time, no matter what interferences happened, no matter if there were any obstacles along the way. If he could not do these simple tasks given to him, what use was he? What good was he doing the world? 

 

The screaming and pain had weakened his current state. He could hardly speak and was finding it difficult to remain conscious. Somehow he had still managed to reply, though the response was faint and barely audible. 

 

“… Understood…” 

 

—

 

**Mission Brief: Locate Andre Rostov Follow him to an isolated location. Make his death look accidental. Leave no trace.**

 

Dark surroundings made his skills in stealth easier to pursue, his dark clothes blending into the shadows as he went. Waiting had been something he had grown accustomed to as an assassin - Not that he knew any different - But he had seen how frustrated and restless the averaged human could grow whilst awaiting something, but he was nothing like them. Evidence of this showed through how smoothly he could enter a locked home; a trivial and simple task for a highly skilled asset like himself. Closing the door with a gentle click behind him, he ensured to re-lock it to avoid suspicion. 

 

Softening his breathing, he exhaled slowly and listened. This was not a difficult task, his heightened senses picking up movement in the house with ease. As he entered he had ensured that there was nobody in the near vicinity of the back door, however, he could now hear somebody approaching to, he assumed, turn off the lights before retreating upstairs. His footsteps were silent despite the heavy combat boots he wore, and he used that stealth of his to move across the room and hide from his target. Listening intently, he could hear the footsteps growing louder as they approached where he hid. The room soon went dark as the light went out with a soft ‘click’ of the switch, and those footsteps soon began to leave, venturing further into the house and away from the kitchen - This was where he was currently located. As he could not hear any other life source in the house, he confirmed that the target was isolated in his home and that his family were away. 

 

Those footsteps belonged to Andre Rostov. 

 

“… No, honey. Everything’s all fine here. I’m home. The security is on-“

 

_It had, in fact, been disabled by the Winter Soldier only moments before._

 

“-And our beautiful daughter is having a sleepover at her friends. You don’t have to worry about anything. Put your feet up and go watch those God awful shows with your mother…” 

 

To a lot of people, the fact that the target was on the phone could often be seen as a negative aspect to the mission. Whilst this was true to a certain extent (due to the fact that the person on the other side of the phone could overhear the assassination, or the target could use the phone as an emergency call to someone), it helped him locate and keep track of where the target was in an easier manner than simple footfalls and general human activity. As previously stated, he was very good at waiting for his opportunity to strike, and so waiting for Rostov to finish the conversation with his wife was no big deal to him. 

 

That was when he hunted his prey. 

 

As he followed the target through the house, his heart beat was steady. Each click of the light switch, turning off those lights, was an advantage to him. He happened to be very good at seeing in the dark, unlike Rostov, which meant that if it all ended in a fight then he would have even more of an upper hand. What he didn’t expect, however, was for his metal arm to glisten and reflect one of the lights as it blew. The spark, the small fuse implosion, it shot reflections off of the shiny, metallic surface. 

 

Rostov wasn’t an idiot. He was an ex-Hydra agent and he himself had personally worked with him. The fact that he had paused briefly as if contemplating his next actions proved to him that he had, in fact, clocked onto his presence. Further confirmation to this? He had bolted to the exit of the room, quick to take action and grab the nearest object that could possibly do harm. Winter chased after him, not once allowing him to leave his vision. That nearest object was a coat rack that was soon swung his way, too large to avoid but no-where near heavy enough to stall him for very long. It hit him but he had put up his bionic hand, grabbing ahold of the black metal between his robotic fingers. They crushed it with ease, soon tossing it aside. The target had ran to grab something, probably another weapon to use against him, but he was confident that he would not lose this fight. 

 

Not again. 

 

Attempting a surprise attack wasn’t the best of ideas against him. It wasn’t in the least a surprise to him, in fact, it was one of the more predictable plans of action that he had seen coming. So when Rostov threw a punch at him, he took ahold of his wrist and pushed him away, successfully blocking it. A previous Hydra agent should know better, should know not to-

 

An elbow was bashed into his face, but it didn’t daze him for too long. He raised a foot and kicked his target in the groin, winding him in the process. Taking the opportunity of vulnerability, Winter balled his bionic hand into a fist and hit the man flat in his face. Hard. Causing him to stumble backward and lose his balance. Rostov wasted no time in grabbing the pocket knife hidden in his jacket, and as soon as he had caught his balance, he attempted to fight back once more. Winter did not give him the time to, however, as he had rapidly approached and had taken ahold of his hair. Gripping hard, he slammed his opponents face into the closest surface, leaving him dazed and in a lot of pain. His nose had made a satisfying crunch, and when he pulled the target back he saw that it was crooked and out of place, blood now trickling out of one nostril and down over his lips. 

 

“Barnes… You- You know me. We worked together, we were partners!” 

 

Winter did not give him the satisfaction of a response, instead, taking the pocket knife from his hand to toss it aside. He once again attempted to fight back, to punch him, but the asset was too quick, responding before he had even been attacked. Kicking his kneecap so that it crunched beneath Rostov’s weight, he covered the man’s mouth with his gloved right hand in order to muffle the pained scream that had formed from the back of his throat. 

 

Throat. Asphyxiation. If he smothered him, if he silently took him out, he could then set everything up to look as if he had broken his neck whilst falling down the stairs. A careless mistake, a tragic accident. Nobody was there to help him and so he would die, alone, at the bottom of the stairwell in his own home. 

 

Briefly removing his hand, Winter grabbed ahold of the front of Rostov’s clothes. It would be easier dragging him up to the place where he would shove him down whilst alive and somewhat co-operative as opposed to sheer dead weight. 

 

“Bucky-“ 

 

Something flashed before his eyes, causing him to pause in his steps. A sense of familiarity, a cold wave going down his spine. _It was nothing. Continue. You cannot fail again._

 

The next time the target spoke was whilst they had almost reached the steps. He had been struggling, albeit weakly, whilst making pained noises that he had been ignoring. Completing the mission was his priority. Getting rid of the traitor, eliminating the man who betrayed them, _that_ was what mattered most. He was stopping them from allowing Hydra to make the world better, and he would pay. Soon, he would not get in the way anymore. 

 

“Bucky…” Rostov took a breath. “… Buck, it’s _me._ C’mon- Snap outta’ it… I’m not gonna fight you…” 

 

An angry snarl erupted from his throat and, before he knew it, his bionic hand had clamped itself around Rostov’s mouth and nose. A murderous expression crossed his face and as he slammed the traitor into the wall just beside the stairs, he stared into his eyes through the strands of brunette hair that had fallen in his face. “ _Shut up._ You had this coming.” 

 

Pressing his lips into an angry, thin line, the Winter Soldier watched as he asphyxiated the target. As the seconds went by, his body was growing weaker and weaker and he watched as the life faded from his body. There was something different about his eyes, that’s what was bugging him the most. Those eyes did not belong to Andre Rostov. They were blue like the ocean with a hint of green in them. Serious, determined, alert, in a way that Rostov had never been, even as a Hydra Agent. As he watched long, blonde lashes slowly flutter closed, it began to grow more and more evident to him as to why those eyes hadn’t seemed quite right. 

 

Terror claimed his body, his chest and heart. His hands suddenly grew frozen, pins and needles erupting within them as he began to panic. 

 

_Buck, it’s_ **_me._ **

 

Everything seemed to crumble down around him all at once. What had previously been his reality, his mission, turned into nothing but a nightmare and repressed memory from the depths of his brain. His surroundings began to melt and fade, turning from a large, wealthy home to a smaller, modern apartment. At his feet lay a muscular blonde, unconscious on the floor with a broken nose and knee-cap, blood down his lips from his nostril. 

 

This time, it was his turn to whimper, to exhale a noise of sheer terror. _What had he done?_

 

Falling to his knees beside the all too familiar man, his shaky hands moved to cup his strong jawline. His chest was not rising and falling, his eyes were closed, and he still had plenty of time before **daybreak** to terminate his target. Only, that was almost thirty years ago, now. That target had been executed a long, long time ago, and now a victim lay before him, having only wanted to help aid his recovery. He had been somebody that had stayed by his side, and vice versa, for as long as he could remember. 

 

A lump formed in his throat and he felt as if he had been screaming for hours on end once more, as if he could barely talk. Fear. Panic. Hysteria. It all claimed him at once, it was all too surreal. This was why he hadn’t wanted to come back, this was why it would be better for him to cease to exist. Dear God— _What had he done?_ Memories flashed before his eyes of times where he thought this moment would genuinely happen. A sixteen year old, skinny kid, being beaten up in an alleyway. Bucky finding him on the floor, beaten and bloody, struggling to breathe. More than once he had lectured the kid, having told him he was surprised he hadn’t found him dead yet and that, if he continued to play with fire, he _would be._

 

It had never crossed his mind that _he_ would be the result of the fire claiming its victim - A victim that he had sworn to protect and stand by… _‘till the end of the line._

 

“… Steve?” 

 


End file.
